Plotting

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I’ve been going to bed early, ostenisbly lying down with the baby, trying to get him to fall asleep.

But also, I like to lie in the dark, after work, after a long day of doing things I don’t really feel like doing, and plot.

It’s like letting my mind wander but different: it’s focusing, twisting and turning the plot this way and that way, what if she does this and he does that? What if this happens and then that?

Plotting, plotting, plotting.

In the dark, my mind is like a spider, scrambling over my plot points, trying to find which one will lead to the way out.

And I like it. I love it, really.

Because the web gives the animal of my mind something to do, instead of turning inside, digging away at my soul, picking at my self-loathing, which it likes to do. Pointing out this thing that is wrong with me and that thing and how everything is wrong and will always be wrong.

I can forget myself, this way. I can train the spider to weave another story, one that will lead itself away from me.